


In Our Bedroom After the War

by ourcrimescene



Series: And You Caused It [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourcrimescene/pseuds/ourcrimescene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When nothing is left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Our Bedroom After the War

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically set between A Life for a Life and Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs.  
> Title and summary Stars songs In Our Bedroom After the War and Your Ex-Lover is Dead.

Cecelia didn’t know Corvo prior to his arrival at the Hound Pits, but judging from Treavor’s interactions with the man, she knows he must have changed.

After the lady Emily’s arrival at the Hound Pits, she can see some flicker in the man’s green eyes when he interacts with her, something that must be akin to the man he was before Coldridge, before the death of the empress Jessamine. 

Cecelia never knew any nobility before Treavor Pendleton, but she likes to believe that they are still people, still the same as her.

When Corvo comes out of the sewers by the apartment that Cecelia locks herself in after the massacre, she can see the anger lighting up his eyes. She thinks to ask where he surfaced after the attempt on his life, but the man passes her by with hardly a word.

She is always forgotten. Always.

Once all of the invading men are knocked out, Cecelia makes a run for it, unsure of where she will go having only known the Flooded District, but going there is a death sentence. She knows a couple of the Whalers that reside there, even having gone as far as seeing their leader from afar, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get out of the Flooded District again.

She makes it as far as Clavering Boulevard before she has to stop at a checkpoint. Hiding in the alleyways, she bunkers down in an abandoned house, holding her small knife firmly in both hands.

Little good it will do her, but it’s better than nothing.

She returns to the Hound Pits after news of Havelock’s capture and the conspiracy’s defeat surfaces. Maybe Corvo will let her take ownership of the pub—it would be a step up from her previous occupations and living quarters.

In the end, Cecelia is always forgotten.

Corvo, Samuel, and Geoff Curnow come to the Hound Pits one day, seeking solace in the bottom of a bottle. Cecelia has been maintaining the place despite not truly owning the place. Corvo looks better, less ragged, less broken, but she can see the absence of light in his eyes despite his attempts to hide it.

She gathers her courage and asks him for ownership of the pub. He stares at her blankly, and she almost despairs that he, too, has forgotten who she is.

“Of course.” He rasps, waving his hand vaguely.

A smile breaks out on her face, and she bravely rises up on her tip-toes hand embraces him gently because maybe all this man needs is some affection. Corvo stiffens at her touch, and she can hear his breath hitch. She tightens her arms around him briefly before pulling away.

“Come visit sometime. For you, drinks are on the house.” She hesitates, and adds quietly, “I know it’s hard to trust anyone after everything that’s happened, but you can try to trust me.” Cecelia tries to smile in what she hopes is a reassuring way before she takes Corvo’s glass to refill it.

The men leave later in the night, Geoff promising to spread the word of the Hound Pits’ existence among the Watch. Cecelia bows her head respectfully in gratitude. Corvo is the last to leave, and she meets his eyes.

“Thank you.” He says, and he walks out the door.

Corvo doesn’t come too terribly often, probably because he is busy guarding the empress. When he does, however, it is usually in the middle of the day when the place is empty. He doesn’t drink a lot, generally only one cup of beer. He remain silent for the duration of his visit while Cecelia cleans the place, wiping down tables and washing glassware.

“How much do you make in one night?” Corvo asks one day, breaking their customary silence. Cecelia tells him an estimate, and Corvo tosses the sum and more on a table.

“Stay closed tonight.” He says, getting to his feet and leaving.

Cecelia leaves the “closed” sign up for the rest of the day and night, and she sits at a table idly. She thinks maybe Corvo only meant to give her a night off, and she thinks to go upstairs to sleep. Unable to bring herself to take one of the larger rooms that Havelock or Pendleton had slept him, Cecelia remains in the servants’ room that she had stayed in before.

She is just about to get up when she hears footsteps on the stairs briefly before Corvo appears around the corner. He nods at her shortly before going to the door and flipping the lock and opening it.

The leader of the Whalers enters, and Cecelia must stifle a gasp of surprise. She stumbles to her feet and rushes behind to counter to begin preparing drinks for the two most powerful and intimidating men in Dunwall. They take a seat in the back corner table on opposite sides, facing each other with each of their left hands on the surface.

She fills two glasses with beer and carries them to the two men, placing the glasses in front of them on the table. She can feel the man in the red coat staring at her appraisingly.

“We can trust her.” Corvo says.

Cecelia retreats away from the men quickly, turning a corner to get behind the bar and bumping her hip into the corner in the process. She swears under her breath, stumbling.

She pointedly tries to block out their voices out of respect, busying herself in wiping down the bar and the glasses for the nth amount of time. She proves quite successful in her endeavor until she hears her name. Her eyes snap up from the surface of the bar to see Corvo motioning for her to approach.

“Do you need your glasses refilled, m’lords?” Cecelia asks after hurrying over to the table, keeping her eyes averted from the men.

“She’s terrified.” The leader of the assassins remarks, and Cecelia chances lifting her gaze to them. Only then does she notice that their glasses are mostly full.

“The Loyalists weren’t kind.” Corvo replies. He motions for her to sit beside him.

Reluctantly, Cecelia sits down, trying to steady the trembling of her fingers. Never has she had the two most dangerous men in her pub at the same time, let alone having them involve her in their affairs.

“How often are any men of great importance in here, Cecelia?” The man in the red coat asks, watching her steadily.

“Not often, m’lord. Mostly low ranked guards of the City Watch. Corvo—er, the Lord Protector—is the only one who really comes here at all.” Cecelia stumbles over her words. The man barks a laugh.

“I’m no lord, girl. Call me Daud.” He says, reaching for his glass.

“You once said I could trust you.” Corvo says quietly beside her, watching her.

Cecelia nods vigorously. “Of course, m’lord. Always.” She affirms.

“And if Daud’s men were to come here and leave information for me, would you keep that discrete?” Corvo continues.

Cecelia feels cold sweat form at the back of her neck. “Er, discrete?” She mumbles, embarrassed of her lack of formal education.

“Secret. Keep it quiet.” Corvo clarifies.

She nods her head vigorously. “Of course, m’lord. I can keep it hidden away in your old quarters.”

“I believe we’re done then, bodyguard?” Daud says, moving to get to his feet.

“We are.” Corvo says, unmoving. Daud downs the rest of his drink and leaves, his footsteps eerily silent against the wooden floor. Cecelia is quick to stand and take the empty glass from the table.

Like the mouse she had pretended to be when everything went to shit with Loyalists, Cecelia scuttles back to the bar to clean the glass. She doesn’t hear Corvo approach over the sound of the running water, but when she looks up, she yelps at how close he is.

“M’lord, I’m sorry, I wasn’t prepared—“

“You may call me Corvo.” He cuts her off, lightly placing his empty glass on the surface of the bar.

“Oh, sorry, but it would hardly be proper…” Cecelia trails off at his intense stare as she takes the glass.

“I’m not truly a noble. You heard Daud—All I am is a glorified bodyguard,” He pauses, “And an assassin.”

Finding herself at a loss for words, Cecelia busies herself washing the glass, scrubbing at it for perhaps a longer duration of time than normal.

“You’re under our protection now.” Corvo says. “If anything happens, notify me or Daud, or one of his men. We’ll take care of it.” She hears the sound of coins on the counter, and she looks up to protest, but Corvo is already opening the door to leave.

Cecelia takes a shuddering breath before making for the stairs to go to sleep.

And so it goes. Almost nightly, a man or woman dressed in dark clothes with a red bandana tied around his or her neck, what she has come to associate with Daud’s men, delivers a pack of files for her to deliver to Corvo.

Corvo comes as often as he can, sometimes stopping in to see her, and other times she notices that the files are gone with the initials “C. A.” on a slip of paper left on top.

This pattern lasts for months, with life going by as normal. Every morning, Cecelia downs her dose of elixir that she can now afford with the income from the pub. Every night, she has men from the City Watch coming in after their shifts to unwind.

Only one incident occurs, in which a man makes an advance at closing time, when he is the only one remaining. Steeling herself, the next day, she catches Daud’s man by the wrist and leans in, telling him of the episode.

A fight breaks out an hour later, and the man in question finds himself with a shard of glass in the eye.

A week later, one of his comrades mentions that he died of a nasty infection.

One morning, Corvo makes an appearance in the common area, where Cecelia is cleaning up after the night before. She looks up at the sound of the bell and sees Corvo approaching silently.

“I’m sorry about the mess, I haven’t had a chance to clean up after last night…” Cecelia trails off as Corvo deposits a pack of coins on the counter.

“Come with me.” He says, and Cecelia’s eyes widen.

“Oh, okay…” She hangs the rag she’d been using to clean the dishes up and hurries after Corvo. Locking the door behind her, she catches up to Corvo as he leads her to a boat waiting at the dock. He steps down, holding his hand out to her. Her face warm, she takes it, the leather of his gloves warm in the sun. She doesn’t remember him wearing gloves before…

“Did you start wearing gloves recently?” She asks, stepping down into the boat.

“Circumstances called for it.” He says, his left hand clenching around hers for a beat longer than exactly appropriate.

“Is it because of the Ma—“

“Yes.” He cuts her off, his eyes glancing around. Cecelia sits on a bench on the perimeter of the boat, clasping her hands together nervously. Meanwhile, Corvo leans against the railing, staring out across the river. About half of his hair is pulled back into a club, but several stray pieces of hair blow about in his face from the wind.

She tucks some of her unruly, too-vibrant hair behind her ears in vain. It still whips around, and she resorts to holding it back out of her face.

She doesn’t really register where their destination is until they are pulling into the water-lock at Dunwall Tower. “M’lord, I’m not dressed for this, I don’t think this is proper—“

He silences her with a solemn look, stepping back from the railing in order to avoid the bulk of the water falling down. “I’m not a noble…” Cecelia says, staring down at her feet. She hasn’t been around such nobility since Treavor Pendleton and Emily, but even then, it wasn’t anything near the sheer magnitude of rich and powerful in Dunwall Tower.

The boat comes to a stop when it is level with the platform. “Follow me.” Corvo says, stepping out onto the platform. Cecelia is quick to follow after him, keeping on his heels and avoiding looking at anyone. He leads her into the main building, and Cecelia can feel eyes on her. She notices that most people in the Tower are servants of some sort, but there are some that seem to be nobility.

“M’lord, where are we going? What am I doing here?” She asks quietly, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. He remains silent as he pushes open a door, leading into a long hallway.

“I told you to call me by my name.” He says, glancing at her with green eyes. Cecelia bites her lip, nodding. Corvo takes another turn, opening a door that leads into some kind of lab. “Piero.” He calls.

“Yes, Corvo, I’m in here. I’m quite busy—“ She can hear Piero’s familiar voice from behind a bookcase filled with strange instruments.

“Need a vaccine.” Corvo interrupts, leading Cecelia around the bookcase. She can see Piero looking through some device at what appears to be a flat glass.

“I already gave you yours, do you not remember? Must be getting old…” Piero looks up, huffing a sigh in frustration. “Oh, her? I wasn’t aware she still lived.”

Cecelia feels a pang of hurt. She had thought at least Piero would remember her existence.

“Why are we giving the vaccine to her? I thought we agreed that we would hold off until we were able to create enough to give to the population…” Piero peels off his gloves, looking at her appraisingly.

“Make an exception.” Corvo replies, crossing his arms.

“It isn’t my decision, Corvo—“

Corvo flickers out of existence for half a second, reappearing nose to nose with Piero. “Do it, Piero.” He growls.

Piero huffs a sigh, turning to prepare what she supposes is some kind of vaccine. “What is the vaccine for?” She asks, shuffling her feet.

“The plague. Sokolov and I were able to find a way to prevent its spread.” Piero replies smugly, using a needle to extract a fluid from a container. “Now hold still.” He says, approaching her. He tilts her head with clammy hands before pressing the needle into the side of her neck. Cecelia stiffens at the sensation of Piero injecting the fluid.

“Now, if you two would leave me alone, I’m very busy.” Piero tosses the needle and instrument into the trash, returning to his strange device.

Cecelia lifts her hand to touch the injection site, but Corvo is already pressing a cotton ball to her neck and wrapping a bandage to hold it in place with nimble fingers. She embarrassingly feels herself flush, and she hopes Corvo doesn’t notice.

He escorts her back to the Hound Pits, and takes a seat at the bar as she resumes cleaning the dishes. “You’ll feel like you’ve caught a cold. It might give you a bad headache, your neck will be sore, and you’ll be tired tonight.” Corvo says, his arms rested on top of each other on the bar.

“Because of the vaccine?” Cecelia asks, placing the last glass in the cabinet. He nods. Cecelia watches him for a second before taking a rag to begin wiping down the tables. “Why aren’t these being given to everyone?”

“Not a big enough supply yet.” He hesitates. “At least that’s what they say.”

“They?” Cecelia wets a table.

“Sokolov and Piero, but they’ve probably been told to say that.” Corvo swivels around in the chair to watch her as she cleans.

“That’s too bad. It would calm things down in the city.” She remarks.

“I’ve gotten some doses to Daud and his men.” Corvo says. “That’ll have to do, for now. They’re keeping things in check. Keeping riots down.”

“He’s a dangerous man.” Cecelia says.

“I know.” Corvo taps a finger on the surface of the bar. “He knows everyone in the city though, able to dig up a lot of information.”

Cecelia hums in agreement, moving to the next table. “What is Emily doing while you’re here?”

“Lessons with tutor.” He replies.

“She must have grown quite a bit since she was last here.” Cecelia muses, never lifting her eyes from her task at hand.

“It’s been three years. She’s thirteen now.” Corvo says.

Cecelia straightens up, rubbing her neck where Piero gave her the injection. “You were right. It does hurt.” She mutters.

“Take the night off. Sleep it off.” Corvo advises, standing.

“So does this mean I don’t need the elixir anymore?” She asks, looking anywhere but him as he approaches.

“Take it for a week to be safe, and then yes, you don’t need it.” He pauses. “The vaccine should be available for the public soon.”

Cecelia lays the rag down on the table, prepared to do as he said and lie down. “Good.” She glances up at him, and swallows nervously. “I suppose I’ll go lay down for a bit.”

Corvo nods and leaves the pub, his footsteps entirely silent. Cecelia wonders how the two assassins are able to do that, but she pushes the thought away and retreats upstairs to her bed.

It doesn’t take more than a month for the vaccine to be offered for the general public, though at a cost. A rather steep one, at that. The City Watch and Overseers get a discounted price, and the different gangs have enough money to pay the price, but there are a significant amount of people that simply can’t afford to get the vaccine.

Cecelia is glad she was able to receive it, considering she works in such a public place with so many people coming and going. Daud’s men continue to arrive with files she is to deliver to Corvo, though she never sees Daud himself.

She becomes more proficient at reading, having started her education upon gaining ownership of the pub. She learns to listen to the chatter around her, and one day, she gains the courage to write her own report to Corvo with shaky handwriting.

Corvo offers her a small smile when he arrives to pick up the reports and sees her own offering to him. As the plague passes from the city, business at the Hound Pits picks up, and she hires a few people to help her out. She pays for their vaccinations with her profits, and she even begins receiving foreign visitors as the blockade on Dunwall is lifted.

All the while, she picks up bits and pieces of gossip from visitors and writes them down as she hears them, passing the information on to Corvo.

Years pass this way. Cecelia carves out her place in Dunwall society, and as the owner of the Hound Pits, she is less forgotten.

Seven years after the beginning of Empress Emily Kaldwin’s rule, Corvo comes to the Hound Pits in the night, breaking the mold. He looks weathered, tired, more tired than he has looked since his escape from Coldridge.

He drinks moderately—he is never a heavy drinker, never reaching the point of losing use of his mental or physical faculties.

He stays past closing, having claimed the back table in the corner. Her employees leave before Corvo, and it is eventually just the two of them. Cecelia sits across the table from the man with a drink of her own. He watches her intensely, his body coiled tightly.

They are silent as Cecelia steadily downs her drink. Upon finishing it, she stands, letting her hair down from the tight bun she keeps it in during work hours. “I’m going upstairs. You can stay as long you wish—just lock the door when you leave.”

Corvo rises, and she watches him as he closes in on her. She feels her heart pounding at the proximity. He lifts a hand and threads his fingers through her hair, the strands catching and dragging on the leather of his gloves. Her breathing quickens, her lips parting to speak. Before she can get any words out, he close the distance and his lips are on hers.

Instinct drives her to wind her arms around his shoulders, and his other hand finds a place on her waist, pulling her closer. His tongue traces along the seam of her lips, and she presses closer to him.

He kisses are fervent and rushed and sloppy as if he hasn't kissed in innumerable years--maybe he hasn't. She traces a hand across his jaw, feeling the texture of the scar he has sported on his face since Coldridge, except when he arrived, it had been fresh, a burn scar.

Corvo’s mouth his blazing as he trails a path across her jaw, down her neck. She clenches her fingers in his hair, the strap of leather holding it back fallen away. “C-Corvo I—“ She breaks off when his teeth scrape her skin, the hand at her waist finding its way to the hem of her shirt.

They make it to one of the rooms up the stairs, one of the larger ones that either Pendleton or Havelock stayed in but Cecelia doesn’t remember anymore nor does she particularly care. She bumps her shoulder painfully into the doorframe, but Corvo is quick to maneuver her away from the offending object. He kicks the door closed behind them before she tugs him to the bed.

She awakens with a start at the sound of the city bells and muffled announcements over the speakers. Her eyes snap open, and she can see that the morning light is just beginning to come through the window.

Corvo is gone.

She sits up, seeing a folded piece of paper left on the table by the bed with Corvo’s initials on the outside. Cecelia climbs out of bed, struggling into her clothes left on the floor. Taking the note in hand, she hurries down the stairs, unlocking the front door and walking out into the chill in order to better hear the announcements.

_“The Lord Protector, Corvo Attano, has died in the night. Empress Emily Kaldwin has called for a time of mourning.”_

Feeling completely sickened and as if her body is made of lead, she unfolds the note that Corvo left her. His handwriting is a familiar scrawl.

_Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh reuploading this due to some shit on ffn. For real never uploading over there again.


End file.
